


It's magic in a red leather coat.

by secretly_a_savior



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types
Genre: Imaginary love?, M/M, Unrequited Love, jack is a trashbaby okay, tyler is getting him drunk for... reasons, tyler is kind of a physical manifestation maybe.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_savior/pseuds/secretly_a_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about Tyler Durden is perfect in every way I am not.  Every detail- even the impermanent ones- fit him, he's flawless. How could I not love him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's magic in a red leather coat.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to Arabella by The Arctic Monkeys. I have this idea in my mind that narcissism is basically manifested in Narrator/Sebastion in an intense little 'crush' on Tyler. Tyler uses this to get what he wants a lot of the time. (Edited/reworded 10/2)

Tyler Durden is beautiful in the most destructive way possible.  
In the way a burning house is beautiful- Tyler is also beautiful. Look! Look at the dancing flames!

Look! Look at the rubble of everything I once called home.

Everything about Tyler Durden is perfect in every way I am not.  Every detail- even the impermanent ones- fit him, he's flawless. How could I not love him?

Love him is maybe a strong word. I'm not sure. I'm beat up and I'm drunk and I'm staring at my best friend in a bar- but I think I love him.

When Tyler Durden walks into a room- he breaks every heart in it. Most bets go to him straight shattering every bone in the room- at least on Saturday nights- but we don't say anything. We respect him for it.

Right now- he has a split lip. But it looks good on him- it suits him. It's tough and swollen, like his fucking ego. The swollen split makes me feel safe, watched over, as if he split his lip protecting me. Safe. I know I am not- but it is the thought that counts.

And his hair.

Oh  _ **fuck,**_  his hair. 

Coarse like asphalt on bare feet- but at the exact same time- un-graspable and fine like a new woven silk. Not that you can tell- the man is a ball of conceit. The hairspray lining his hair has been there for what seems like years. I note that tonight- the product is flaking, falling out of his hair like dandruff onto the table at Lou's Tavern, and as I note this he wraps his lips around a bottle of Pabst, looking up and taking a long sip.

And damn. Damn I wish I was that bottle- and as if on queue with my thoughts, the rim of the bottle exits his mouth with a sickening little *pop* and I look over.

I don't say 'I wish I was the bottle.' What I say is much less seductive, less poignant than that. What I really say is

"Tyler, you can't do that- he'll kick your ass. He'll kill you."

I hide my thoughts well and bite my own lip as Tyler opens his mouth to speak. There's a pregnant pause where his mouth just lays open like he's gonna say something, but what comes out is

"We'll see."

And I laugh. It's funny. It really is. It's funny that he doesn't have an IOTA of the concept  of Life and Death. As if there was no mother to make him put on a helmet and knee-pads and pour iodine on his tiny little scraped up knees. If he did- he wouldn't admit it. If he did, I'd never guess.

Recklessness suits Tyler well also. His recklessness makes me feel un-safe. un-protected. In all of the right ways. Emergency room lights remind me I am not safe. I am not protected- and I am both of these things in all the wrong ways. I feel like a teenage girl who's fallen for the greaser who rides a motorcycle to school- he's got a knife! How mysterious!

Tyler doesn't need knives.

The lighting in this tavern doesn't do him justice. It really doesn't. The shaky neon of the BUD PLATINUM sign that hasn't been replaced since 1988, the dim fluorescent lights hanging from their fixtures casting a yellow light around everything in the bar- no. It doesn't make anyone look their best.

He looks best- walking home after an over-night shift at whatever temp job he's picked up overnight. The sun rising behind him frames him like some kind of god- like Adonis. The light just makes me squint- makes the blood I scrubbed out of my collar with toothpaste that much more obvious.

I sigh and roll my eyes at his last comment, and for a moment, there's something almost ethereal in the light. It felt like nothing was tangible even if for that hundredth of a second- especially not Tyler. Tyler's never all the way there though. He snakes around a room like smoke- his touches are barely there- even when they're gravely injuring. It's queer.

I shake my head, clearing it like an etch-a-sketch, and it clears just in time to see Tyler flag us down another couple of drinks. When he does it though- the bartender addresses me. I just not and furrow my brows, taking the drinks from her hands- maybe he did something to make her ignore him. Pinched her ass. Tyler would do that.

He, meanwhile, just smirks and shakes his head ever so slightly. Like he knows what I've been thinking. About him- at least.

_**Like he knows what I've been thinking.** _

 


End file.
